


Made for You

by My_Mind_Palace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Mind_Palace/pseuds/My_Mind_Palace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out in the world, there's someone for everyone, it's just a matter of finding them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wishing and Finding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing

_Beep. Beep. Beep_. John Hamish Watson’s alarm clock prompted him awake. With a groan, he smacked the thing blindly until the beeping stopped. Slowly, he opened his eyes, then dragged himself to the bathroom. Staring into the mirror, he ran a hand through his hair, then attempted to rub the sleep out of his eyes. This movement brought attention to the neatly scrawled tattoo on his left wrist. “ **William** ” John ran his right hand over the name lovingly and sighed. **William** , it had been written on wrist since birth. It was supposed to be so simple this way. “Everyone has their someone,” they had told him as soon as he was old enough to question, “and you’ll find yours when the time is right,” This eliminated so many uncomfortable things; the need for unnecessary crushes, awkward dating, prejudice against those who had a same sex mate, all of it was gone. Everyone simply wanted to meet their someone, That’s all anyone cared about, and it sometimes even gave people a reason to stay living. They had to wait. They had a someone. Well, _would_ _have_ a someone. John sighed. He’d been waiting patiently, and he was still waiting. Waiting for his someone, waiting for **William.**

 _This **William** better be one hell of a bloke_ , thought John as he began to get ready for the upcoming day. Simple pants and a cardigan, nothing too fancy. All he was planning on was going in to the surgery and then meeting his university buddy, Greg, for a Soulmate Ceremony  later. When soulmates found each other, it was customary to have a big ceremony and celebrate. Greg had finally found his soulmate: a tall, pompous man named Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft and John had only met once, and it was nothing in-depth, just a quick “Hello,” and that was all. But tonight, John was looking forward to seeing what Greg’s other half was like, how these two men, while seemingly very mismatched, could be soulmates. Sighing, John leaned over the sink and began to wash his face. He wished so _badly_ for his soulmate, it was a constant desire that needed to be fulfilled. He had been patient, but sometimes, it was just so _hard_. John wanted his true love, and he wanted him _now_. This **William** fellow was beginning to get on John’s nerves. He’d waited 32 years for the man, and he wasn’t getting any younger.

***

After he finished up in the bathroom, John went to the box that sat on his bedside table. It was a simple thing, but a thing of beauty nonetheless. It was made out of polished cherry wood that shone, and had an intricate design carved into the top. John undid the clasp on the box and opened it, revealing the inside of the box, which was lined with cream colored silk. His father had given him the box when he had been little; after all, there was no reason for him to have it anymore. He had his someone already. And, in the center of the cream colored silk, a simple bracelet sat. The bracelet was made of a light brown leather, but the inside of it was lined with suede, as to keep it from hurting John. It didn’t have any writing on it or anything; John wasn’t one of those people who bothered to make his bracelet really elaborate, Besides, one day he wouldn’t have a reason to wear the bracelet anymore, so what was the point? John slipped it on. It was fitted perfectly to his wrist; no sliding or anything. It was important that no one saw the name written in ink on his wrist. Everyone was supposed to have a soulmate, but the bracelets made sure no one could take advantage of the name, and trick someone into thinking they were their soulmate when they weren’t. This, however, also made it more difficult to _find_ said soulmate. Well, if what everyone said was true, it would be _so_ worth it.

Moving out of his bedroom and down the hall, John began to make his morning tea. Bustling about the kitchen, John paid no mind to the bracelet he wore on his left wrist. It was an everyday necessity, _everyone_ had a bracelet; well, everyone without a soulmate. John moved along quickly, then drank his tea and moved down the hall to put on his shoes. After that, he shuffled out the door and began the day.

***

Sherlock was not having the best of days. First off, he got a call from Mycroft this morning. That in itself was always a bad sign, Mycroft never called unless it was truly important. But the worst thing about it was Mycroft had finally met his soulmate, and they were having their Soulmate Ceremony, Bracelet Unveiling, Something Or Other Pretentious Title, party tonight. And as brother of the “groom”, Sherlock was kind of required to attend. What a horrible thought. Sighing, Sherlock got up and began pacing his small flat. Living alone had its advantages, Sherlock could be as loud as he wished around the clock, as there was no one to be disturbed.  Except when he started shooting the wall. That always turned out to be a bit not good. Sherlock had been yelled at countless times by infuriated neighbors demanding that he, “STOP IMMEDIATELY,” and that if he didn’t they would have him evicted. _As if._

However, there would be no wall-shooting today. Just a sodding ceremony to celebrate, “the joining of two souls, the melding of two hearts, the merger of fates,” or whatever crap they decided to say. Really, it was all so dull, so predictable. But even as Sherlock thought this, he couldn’t help but think of the name etched into his right wrist. **Hamish**. Now _that_ was a good, proper name. It was unusual, it was different, it was _something new_. It definitely wasn’t boring. Sherlock couldn’t help pulling back the sleeve of his shirt, which was a deep violet color. He wasn’t wearing his bracelet, as it was he was home alone. His bracelet still sat in the dark polished box on his bedside table. Hamish. He ran a finger along the name once before rolling down his sleeve again with a sigh, In the hallway, the clock struck 12:00. Sherlock glanced in that direction before sighing once again to himself, this time in annoyance. _Alright_ , he thought irritably, _let’s get this ridiculous event over with_. And with that, he strode off into the bedroom to put on his bracelet, and grab his coat and scarf, of course.

Once in his room, Sherlock naturally gravitated towards his darkwood box. The box had been a present from Mummy, a longstanding tradition in their family. Once a young girl or boy turned 10, they were given their Bracelet Box, and were instructed to keep it close, as they would need it for the future. Sherlock hated all this soulmate mumbo-jumbo, but he had to admit, his box was a thing of beauty. With a smooth, sleek finish and glossed over by hand, he quite admired how the box looked in his room. It had his name engraved on the side: William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Running his hand along the side, Sherlock smoothly lifted the lid to reveal the item inside. A small, delicately carved bracelet sat in the middle of a pile of gray chiffon, nestled in between the soft folds of fabric. Sherlock lifted it carefully, the silver was well-worn, but still looked classy. Undoing the clasp and slipping the bracelet on, Sherlock smiled for the first time that day. The bracelet fit perfectly, practically molded to his skin after years of everyday use. Sherlock snapped the box shut and ambled over to find his scarf and coat. They were hanging on the coat rack in his sitting room, and with both items on and fastened, Sherlock proceeded to get ready to face his impending doom at Mycroft’s house.

***

Mycroft and Greg were in the vast Holmes estate, waiting for their guests to arrive. Both of their faces were shining with the kind of excitement only true love could bring. Mycroft and Greg hadn’t had a traditional meeting, however, considering who both of them were, it was quite appropriate. It had been Sherlock’s antics that had brought them together one night after he had gotten himself into a particularly difficult situation. When the two had met, it had been innocent enough, but both soon found themselves thinking of the other more than often. Both were very reserved about it though; dating was a serious and dangerous thing, and there was always the fear of falling for the wrong person. It seemed right to both Greg and Mycroft, but neither of them could be sure; after all, they didn’t exactly find their _soulmate_ everyday. And yet, they were lucky. There was no complications in their relationship, it was allowed to blossom from the start. Well, as soon as Mycroft got a hold of Greg’s full name (in a slightly illegal way…but only slightly, of course) and figured out it was _him_ , From then on, Mycroft had been ready to take the necessary steps, and once the pair were together, there was no mistaking the connection. They were _made_ for each other, they balanced each other out perfectly. Mycroft could be cold, calculating, a workaholic, snobby, ect. Greg on the other hand could be a bit rowdy, stressed easily, overly casual (if there was such a crime…). In any case, together, they made each other complete, and they brought out the best in each other. Desperately in love, they did share the quality of being hopeless romantics, though Mycroft had been “in the closet” about this until he met Greg. But now, both were allowed to show their affections for each other freely, and soon, it would be official in the eyes of everyone. But for now, they were kissing each other into oblivion on a couch in the Holmes estates.

But then, the doorbell rang. Sighing, Mycroft pulled himself off Greg, but not before pecking him quickly on the lips. Greg rolled his eyes but let Mycroft climb off him; his soulmate was a busy man.  “I’ll be right back,” Mycroft said when he heard Greg’s sigh. He exited the room and strode down the hall to answer the door. Lo and behold, Sherlock was there, standing atop the stoop like like a tall and imposing shadow clad in a long, dark coat. He was dressed in deep violet, and stood like he had a purpose. Mycroft groaned and called out, “Greg! Sherlock has arrived, the Soulmate Ceremony is going to begin shortly.” Turning and opening the oakwood door for his brother, Mycroft tried to gather every ounce of patience he could. It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault that they had just been, well,  _busy_ , but it was annoying all the same. Mycroft swung open the door and greeted Sherlock, “Ah, brother mine. Quite a pleasant day, don’t you agree?” Sherlock just snorted. “Oh, Mycroft stop your useless small talk. We both know you and Mr. Lestrade here were passionately making out on the couch mere moments ago. Please, politely fuck off.” Mycroft laughed aloud, and Greg walked up behind him when he heard the melodious noise. “What’s so funny?” “My wonderful brother was just expressing his distaste for our, say, choice of _activities_ this afternoon.” And with that, the three of them moved out of the doorway and into the main sitting/dining room where the ceremony would be held. The rooms were decorated lavishly, silk curtains and white tablecloths, the like. Nothing less than perfectly elegant for the great Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock glanced around, and blinked for a moment. He was genuinely… _surprised_? The room was done up, and it definitely looked very posh, but for Mycroft, it was actually… _modest_. “Mycroft”, and “modest” had never been able to make it together in a sentence before, and so Sherlock wondered at the change. “Did you decorate the room yourself?” he asked, whirling on his heel to face his brother with an intense stare. Mycroft smiled and tugged Greg closer affectionately. “Not _all_ alone, no, of course not. Of course love wanted to help, it’s _our_ Soulmate Ceremony after all.” Greg smiled up at Mycroft, and Mycroft beamed back. Sherlock, on the other hand, turned his back to the nauseating sight and murmured, “No wonder; it actually doesn’t look like the Queen and the Bank had a baby and let it throw up all over the place, spewing class and money.” Mycroft and Greg both chuckled at this, even though Sherlock hadn’t meant it to be a joke. “Really brother, you could at least _pretend_ to be happy for us, just for a moment. It’ll be fun, like a game.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, and even though he knew his brother couldn’t see the motion, he knew he got the gesture. Mycroft gave a sigh of mock exasperation. “Well, at least pretend for _Gregory’s_ benefit. It’s awful uncivilized to be so rude to _Greg_ , he hadn’t done anything to you.” Sherlock spun around again, turned to stare directly at Greg, who was still clutched to Mycroft’s chest like a teddy bear. “Greg, I am most happy that you have found your soulmate, and would like to comment on how vastly unfortunate for you that it is my brother. Now I won’t say that, because you would become offended, and apparently, that’s _awfully uncivilized_ ,” Sherlock mocked his brother’s voice. Greg just looked at him with amusement, completely unfazed by his abruptness or his outburst. Mycroft was his soulmate, no question, but he had known Sherlock first. His behaviour was not a shock, and in fact, it was slightly comforting. Sherlock only got worked up over things he cared about.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, told you we'd be back! :) Did you miss us? ;) Anyway, since we have some of this work completed, we'll be able to update fairly often, but it won't be completed like the other one...But that's alright, this fandom is used to waiting. ;) As always, we really appreciate feedback, so don't be shy when it comes to comments, we want to hear your opinions! Thanks so much! 
> 
> ~You've just seen a Glimpse inside My_Mind_Palace


	2. The Soulmate Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, the Purple Shirt of Sex (If that arouses you to uncomfortable levels, you might need to step out for a moment), and Awkward Flirting (It's a bit painful)

At the same time as Sherlock was spewing poorly constructed criticism at his brother and his brother’s soulmate, John was getting ready for Greg and Mycroft’s Soulmate Ceremony. He had decided to change out of his work clothes and into something a little more appropriate for the evening. It was only a quick stop at his flat, he just needed to don a nicer shirt and trousers, and then he was off. John changed swiftly, grabbed his shoes and coat and headed for the party.

As the cab rolled into the Holmes Estate, John was beginning to panic a little bit. Just a little. Okay, maybe quite a bit. A lot, actually. He was underdressed and the other guests all were black tie, he arrived in a cab and while they had their stretch limousines. And walking up to the front door, John realized that he forget the present. _Great, this night is off to a marvelous start_ , he thought as he climbed the stairs to the front porch. _I sure hope Greg won’t mind, I mean none of this decor and elegant attire really seems like him. He's usually much more casual, preferring drinks and a pub over fine dinner and champagne. I can’t believe he even decided to live here, this place is_ huge! But his thoughts were soon interrupted as he reached the door handle and knocked politely. A man clad in a tuxedo opened the door wide, grinning and smiling and asking for John’s name. John replied with a quick, “John Watson.” The man nodded and checked his name off the list, then waved him through the door.  John entered the house and literally had to pick his jaw off the floor. The place was insane! Silk curtains, classy chandeliers hanging bright, clear, and polished from the high, slanted roof. The ladies wore dresses that would only be seen in places like a five star restaurant or dinner with the Queen. The men wore suits and black ties, and looked thoroughly uncomfortable all the way down to their shined shoes. John gawked and stared, never seeing Greg the type whose soulmate was as rick and proper as the _fucking Queen of England_. Nonetheless, he shrugged. Love was sometimes crazy, wild, and worked in unexpected ways. John savored this thought as he moved through the throng of guests to the Main Hall. Inside were tables of the finest decor, grand and elegant, things like that. John didn’t quite feel comfortable, he was a bit out of his element, per say.

***

He continued to walk around somewhat blindly, looking for Greg, or Mycroft, or really any familiar face that was not all dressed up. As he was passing through another long and elegant corridor, he found what he was looking for…sort of. On a small balcony, whose glass doors had been opened outward, stood a very tall man. He wasn’t all dressed up in a full suit; in fact he seemed to be going for the same sort of look as John. However, he still somehow managed to bring class and grace to his simple look. He wore a dress shirt made out of silk in a very deep hue of purple, which was then tucked neatly into his pants. His black slacks were pressed, and molded to his body perfectly. On the railing of the balcony, a rather long, dark navy coat sat draped, and a deep blue scarf was also laid next to it. The man himself had an impressive head of dark curls, which somehow managed to look unruly while still being perfectly in place. He also didn’t look too bad from behind…John snapped back to attention when the man turned around suddenly. John usually would have been embarrassed and mumbled an apology as he quickly walked away, but he didn’t do or feel any of that at the moment. He was completely engrossed in the features of the person in front of him. His eyes were the most stunning things John had ever seen; they were the color of the ocean with the sun glinting on it. His features were angular and elegant, and they seemed to have been made to exaggerate the best parts about him; his eyes and his…lips. They were beyond perfect, they were unreal. Real people simply didn’t have features like that. Smooth and pink, they arched and curved in just the right ways, creating the textbook example of lips. John breathed out softly, and continued to stare unconsciously. That is, until he realized those intense eyes were trained on _him_ with a look of curiosity. John _should_ have felt ashamed for staring, _should_ have been stuttering some lame apology to the beautiful stranger. But…he didn’t. He held the eyes with his own, and after a moment, he asked, “Why are you alone?” The stranger seemed taken aback by this, but it did not seem like he was repelling John or his question. When he did not answer immediately, John went out onto the balcony to join him, standing next to him on his right side. “Sorry, I forgot the bit before that,” he said, feigning sheepishness and holding out his hand. “My name is John, John Watson. And you are…” The stranger was still looking at him in a slightly surprised sort of way, but took John’s hand to shake it anyway. “Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes.” John smiled and tried to ignore the tightening in his chest. Oh. For a moment, it had almost seemed as though this man might be… _No!_ He thought violently to himself. _**William** , remember! Not Sherlock. Not…not him. He’s not the one, snap out of it! _

“So....Sherlock Holmes aye? You never answered my question. Why the solitude?” Sherlock turned towards John with a crooked smile. _God, that smile could melt anyone’s heart_ , thought John, and then he sighed because it was a bit unfair. Here stood this gorgeous bloke, with eyes so beautiful they could put the sky to shame and cheekbones so sharp they could cut through a heart like a razor-edged knife. Sherlock stood quietly taking John in, and for a moment, John allowed himself to bask in the unexpected attention. Anyone that knew Sherlock could tell he was quiet solely for the purpose of deducing and thinking, trying to analyze this, well, _dashing_ man that stood in front of him. And when he thought he had gathered enough information, he spoke. “University friend of Lestrade’s?”

Flabbergasted, John stared at that _god damn smirk_ that he just wanted to kiss right off Sherlock’s face. _Wait….what? No, this is all wrong. He’s Sherlock!! Sherlock!!! Not **William**. Get yourself together, John! You can’t go falling in love with random strangers!_ But instead of saying all this out loud, a confused John just asked, “How did you know?” “Well, first off you are obviously too casually dressed to be a friend or acquaintance of Mycroft, all the people here for him have arrived in black tie. You, on the other hand, have settled on a normal polo that was clearly bought at a department store. Most shirts here are tailored for use, fit the body to a tee, while yours is a bit loose around the shoulders. Clearly, you care about your appearance, as you spent quite a long time on your hair this morning. So why would you have a normal polo shirt for an expensive Soulmate Ceremony? We can deduce that you are still paying off university debts. Either that, or you thought Lestrade would be more of the type to have the ceremony at a pub rather than an estate, which also points to the fact that you knew Lestrade before he met my brother, Mycroft.”

John stood with his mouth hanging wide open, shocked into complete and utter silence. He couldn’t help but admire the man’s mind and quick wit. And not to mention he was incredibly attractive. “That…..That was amazing! Where the _hell_ did you learn to think like that?”

Sherlock gave a half-smile and said, “Oh, simply a couple of things I’ve picked up over the years. It’s quite simple really, once you get the hang of it. John grinned, this man was simply fascinating. “What kind of job requires you to do things like that? Do tell, I simply must know what you do for a living.” Sherlock smiled, this man was very patient and kind. He could tell because usually by this point people either thought he was a pedophilistic stalker or simply a freak of nature. ‘I’m a consulting detective, only one in the world. Invented the job myself.”

At those words, Sherlock puffed out his chest a bit more, and it was easy to tell he took pride in his work. John considered his words for a moment, then smiled and said, “And what exactly does the world’s only consulting detective do?” Sherlock’s eyes had a sudden gleam of excitement. Someone was _interested_ in him! Finally, someone who understood that he deserved attention! “Well, put simply, I am the one the police turn to when they are out of their depth, which they almost always are.” John nodded, and said, “And so they call you, and you…” “Assist them,” Sherlock said, picking up the fading sentence. John continued to smile at Sherlock, and a moment later, a flash of recognition went across his feature. “Oh, hang on, is that how you know Greg?” Sherlock nodded and said, “Yes, that is how we initially got involved. It was so painful watching the police struggle so hard with such a simple case, and so I offered my services.” “So you’re here for Greg too?” John asked. “Well, and Mycroft, though I suppose it’s more of an ‘obligation’ with him. He’s my brother, quite sadly.” John’s eyes opened a bit wider. “Wow,” he breathed, “so you knew both of them? Did you know that, well, could you deduce that they would be soulmates?” A slight look of disgust passed Sherlock’s face, and he said, “No, I didn’t know that they would be soulmates. If I had, I might have kept them away from each other for longer. But, unfortunately, I was the reason they met.” He  shuddered slightly in a melodramatic way. John simply smiled, before a slight look of alarm overtook him. “Sherlock…doesn’t that mean you’re _in the ceremony_???” Sherlock, who looked completely unalarmed in contrast, nodded his head lazily and glanced at John. John sputtered slightly when he said, “But then- Sherlock, you- you have to be in there- it’s starting soon- don’t they need- and if you aren’t- and Greg- what about Mycroft- YOU NEED TO GET IN THERE!” Sherlock looked slightly surprised at the outburst, but there was also amusement in his eyes as he looked at John. Pretending to sigh, he said, “Well, since you are so insistent on my presence, I suppose I’ll go in. But you have to promise me we’ll see each other after the ceremony.” John smiled and said, “Yes, I can do that for sure. Now, _get in there_!”  

“Will do, Mr. John Watson, I’m sure I will be seeing you soon.” And with those words, he grabbed his coat off of the balcony railing. Brushing quickly and elegantly beside John in a movement that was all swirling of cloak and whisking of scarf, Sherlock left the balcony and John behind him. And just like a faded dream or a broken memory, he was gone like the wind whipping through the trees.

***

John stood there for a moment, in a bit of a daze from the powerful man’s presence. He realized that the reason he was out here in the first place was to avoid being social, but it seemed to have happened anyways. But John didn’t quite mind, he liked Sherlock, even with all his quirks and slightly arrogant manner. And there was something about him….something he felt in the air that night. With the breath of Sherlock so close and the night air brisk and clear beyond the party’s lights, John felt he was with….. _his soulmate_. But that couldn’t be, could it? Because Sherlock was pompous and poised, eyes alight and coat aflutter, while he was just….John. Not sophisticated nor dignified, just John that worked at the surgery and helped people for a living. Just John that lived in a normal flat, who came home just to watch crap telly every once and again. And besides, Sherlock and him could never be together. It was against the law. His soulmate was William, and even if it wasn’t, John was sure Sherlock would never fall for a man like him.

Brushing these thoughts quickly aside, John decided it was time to head back inside for the ceremony. He was sure it would be long, pompous, and boring, with a man like Mycroft in charge, how could it not? He turned and headed to the warmth of the house and the twinkling of the chandeliers inside the Ceremony Room. Arriving there, John suddenly realized he didn’t know where to sit. What does one do at the most cultured Soulmate Ceremony around? Did they have assigned seating, or did you simply sit with the people with whom you were acquainted? John surely hoped it wasn’t the latter, most of these upper class English fellows didn’t look like they had too much in common with a man like himself. Shrugging and looking more closely at the tables, John realized that there were tastefully designed place cards in front of each seat. _Whew_ , John thought to himself, _that’s one problem out of the way_. And with that, he plopped down on his chair and waited patiently for the Soulmate Ceremony to begin.

***

A young woman clad in a long, black silk dress stepped forward to a microphone in the center of the room. “Welcome, friends, family, and honoured guests, to the Soulmate Ceremony of Gregory Adam Lestrade and Mycroft Zachariah Holmes.” She paused for a moment to allow the guests to clap and to smile around the room. “Today, we gather here to watch the joining of two hearts, and the unity of two souls. We gather to give honor to the sacred tradition of finding the one who was meant for you, your Soulmate. Now, without further ado, please allow me to present our soon-to-be Soulmates, Gregory and Mycroft.” With that, Greg and Mycroft entered the room from an arching entrance behind the girl in black. There had been silk curtains draped over it, and these were lightly brushed aside as the couple entered. Their wrists (presumably those with the names tattooed onto them) were tied together in an elaborate knot with a soft-looking material- probably more silk. The couple was not holding hands, but their faces radiated happiness as they looked around the crowded room, As they entered, the young woman by the microphone moved it to the side, and they came to stand in the place where she had been. Two men placed a rather large, ornate oval mirror on a stand to the side of them as well, but it was not touched other than that. Mycroft and Greg turned to face each other, but their hands still did not meet. A flicker in the shadows; John wasn’t sure how he had caught it, as it was all the way in the back of the room. After squinting for a second, he realized with a smile that it was _Sherlock_. From the looks of it, he was all but hiding. John smiled, and after a moment noticed that Sherlock was fussing with his shirt collar. John’s grin widened. Sherlock was _nervous_. For some strange reason, it was comforting to see the amazing man go out of sorts. Finally, Sherlock went to the center of the "stage" to join Mycroft and Greg. He stood so that he was in front of them, facing the audience, and they turned their backs on the audience in favor of looking at him. “Gregory Adam Lestrade, and Mycroft Zachariah Holmes,” he said, turning to each one of them in individually. “Until now, your souls have been astray without their other half. You have been looking without seeing, and living without knowing. Yet now, as your ancestors before you, you have seen clarity with the eyes of another, Another entity of yourself, you have found your Soulmate.” He paused for a moment and allowed them to glance at each other before he continued. “But first, you must understand who you are and where you stand.” With a flick of his wrist, Sherlock beckoned two men, both in all black, out of the shadows. They went over to the mirror, lifted it, and promptly placed it in front of Mycroft, so it was only showing him and a bit of those behind him. Sherlock rolled his eyes only slightly as he recited,

“Look well,

And look deep,

For this moment will be,

The last time,

Only half a soul,

In the mirror

You shall see.”

Mycroft regarded himself carefully, and after a moment, he smiled at Sherlock and nodded his head. The men moved to place the mirror in front of Greg, and the same words were recited. Gregory did the same with himself, and after a moment, he too nodded his head. Then, Mycroft and Greg moved to face each other again, and the men stood the mirror up in between them, so they were both looking at themselves in the two sides of the mirror. With great ceremony, Sherlock went and placed a hand atop the mirror. Carefully slipping his fingers behind the two sides of mirror, he slid them off, revealing a window. The two men came and carried the two pieces of mirror away, and Mycroft and Greg were now able to see each other clearly through the polished glass. Sherlock cleared his throat slightly, and said, “Standing before you is a reflection of yourself. They do not bear the same face, nor the same name. They stand and reflect you in a way you never saw yourself. They depict the parts of your soul you haven’t seen, and they represent an extension of you. Do you accept your reflection, and do you accept that they will make your soul whole?” Both men were smiling through the glass at each other, both welling up with tears. Together, they proclaimed, “We accept the journey to come, and we rejoice in finding the missing part of ourselves. We do,” Sherlock produced a small, ornate hammer from seemingly out of nowhere, and with perfect precision, shattered the window to pieces. The pieces fell between the two new Soulmates, and Sherlock stooped to pick up a large, sharp piece, the end of which he wrapped in cloth so he wouldn’t cut himself, “All worldly and spiritual boundaries have been broken, May you live, grow, and prosper now, with your Soulmate.” With that, Sherlock went and cut the knot tying their hand together, and under their cuffs their tattoos were just visible. Their hands joined, and all Sherlock had to say was, “You may now join with your Soulmate,” for them to be kissing and holding each other, somehow avoiding the glass. The entire audience cheered, and even Sherlock couldn’t repress a small grin.

John was looking on from the tables, smiling to himself and happy that his good friend had found his soulmate. He hoped Greg and Mycroft would live long, happy lives together, but his thinking was bittersweet. Why couldn’t this have been his soulmate ceremony? And who the hell was William? Did he even exist? Would they ever even meet? There were stories of course. Rumors even. Of people who never found their soulmate, who lived out their lengthy lives, oblivious to the blissful joys of having found their other half. Their bracelets were put on every day, and they went about like zombies: stuck in a half-living, half-dead state. John shuddered. To think that there was a chance, however marginally small, of this happening to him was unfathomable. He needed his soulmate. He needed William.

Meanwhile, the great Sherlock Holmes remained at his position on the stage. Sherlock was stuck between wanting to leave, but not wanting to disturb his brother’s first few minutes of being Complete. But when Mycroft and Greg pulled apart, with many shy glances and meaningful looking into each others eyes, Sherlock caught his brother’s eye. Mycroft nodded as if to say, “Go, brother. Go and enjoy yourself. Greg and I are fine, we are Soulmates, after all.” Sherlock dipped his head in return, and strode off the stage. He had a purpose, a destination. He was going to find that man from outside and demand to see more of him. He was going on a search for John Watson.


	3. Dancing and Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mycroft's threats, mild swearing, mild angst (John's only friend is a spoon)

Soft music started to play, gentle and sweet and quiet like a mother’s lullaby. Or a bird’s singing. Or the whisper of night, dark and mysterious past the soft glow of the estate. John enjoyed the melody immensely, and as first dances go, Mycroft’s and Greg’s was beautiful. They were twirling and smiling and _in love_ , oh so in love. Even sitting pretty far in the back, John could tell that the men were absolutely mental for each other. All of the other people sitting with John had either gone off to socialize or to dance, as the music was so wonderful. This left him alone, with no one but the silverware as company. John didn’t mind much, he was used to being a homebody, a loner. He sought solitude rather than large crowds, and he tended to keep to himself. This was soon disrupted when a man floated over to John and gracefully sunk into the seat next to him. John couldn’t suppress his grin. Sherlock had found him.

Sherlock started, “Hello, John.”

“Hello. It’s nice to see you again. I didn’t really get to say good-bye last time, you were there one moment and then you were gone.” John blushed, he wasn’t used to feeling this comfortable with a person after only knowing them for about an hour. Sherlock’s lips quirked up in what could be considered a smile at John’s remark. “You were right. I had….other matters to attend to. My brother’s Soulmate Ceremony, you know, things like that.” John simply shrugged at the statement, but he couldn’t help but admire the way words flowed easily off Sherlock’s tongue. It was so mesmerizing John was almost put into a trance. But he couldn’t let himself think like that. _Snap out of it, John! You are here to celebrate Greg’s Soulmate Ceremony, not hit it off with Mycroft’s brother! You need to pull yourself together!_  But all the chaos in John’s mind was kept behind a cool exterior that not even Sherlock Holmes could deduce. John spoke again, “Ah. but of course. Send my congratulations to the happy couple.”

Sherlock visibly cringed. “I would, but at the moment, I think they are a bit….occupied.” Both men glanced over to see that, indeed Mycroft and Greg were kissing. John laughed. “Sherlock Holmes, it was truly a pleasure to meet you.” John paused for a second and gathered his courage before he spoke again, ”I know both of us are not typically the sort, but to hell with it all. Would you care to dance? I mean, the night is still young, and the ceremony was absolutely beautiful...” John let the sentence trail off, leaving it up to the consulting detective to put a meaning behind the words.

Sherlock balked in his mind, but kept up the cool facade. “John Watson, it would be my pleasure.” And with that, the two men arose from their seats and glided over to the dance floor. The music had changed from the beautiful first soulmate dance to something a little different, a classical orchestra complete with violins and wind instruments. Sherlock smiled as he recognized the violin in the piece, but thought to himself that he could probably play better. When one gets as little sleep as Sherlock Holmes, one learns how to do things correctly.

 

That is when Sherlock remembered to get sleep, of course. As he stepped onto the dance floor, they were joined by a few other couples, including the new Soulmates themselves, who were still _far_ too happy in Sherlock’s opinion. Sherlock looked as John came around and attempted to put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, which he eventually did after stretching up a little. Chuckling, Sherlock moved closer, saying, “Here John, try this, If I move closer, your arm will have less distance to extend over, and therefore it should be easier for you to get into position,” John blushed a little, but he did as Sherlock said, and soon he found it was easy enough to keep his hand on Sherlock. Sherlock’s long arms made it easy for him to slip around John’s waist, and lay his hand to rest on the small of John’s back. Once his hand was in place, John felt some colour rush to his face, and he prayed that Sherlock didn’t notice, A small smirk as Sherlock twisted their free hands together. He had noticed. Great.

Sherlock ended up leading because that was the stance he usually took, and it was also the one John had put him in. It was a very comfortable dance, and also a very enjoyable one. Sherlock rarely enjoyed dancing, unless of course it was in doing undercover work for a case. However, dancing with John was different. They moved well together, and John was good at following Sherlock. In fact, sometimes it seemed as though John knew what Sherlock was going to do the moment before he did it. It was beautiful in a way, more so than Sherlock would humor himself to imagine at first. However, throughout the entire duration of the dance, he couldn’t help but notice how close he and John were, and how much he…liked it.

Sherlock was not used to feelings like this, feelings of…. _belonging_. It was strange, but in an odd way, he sort of liked it. He and John flowed perfectly together, like water tumbling down a stream. They sensed each other’s movements, and no one at that party could deny the two looked good together. Though John was short while Sherlock lanky, the two seemed to complement each other, and they swayed so close together they almost seemed one. Snapping out of these thoughts and turning towards his partner, John smiled up at him. He had never met someone with whom he’d felt more compatible, but why did it even _matter_? There was no point in pursuing this relationship, after all, Sherlock was no **William**. They weren’t soulmates, and no matter how much John wanted to stay here huddled against Sherlock’s chest all throughout the night, it simply couldn't be.

And the thought made him sick.

The thought that he and Sherlock, no matter how much they loved each other, could never be together because of some stupid _names_. Stupid, meaningless names that had been tattooed on them since birth would ruin John’s one and only chance at being truly happy. And even though the system improved the world and made bonding easier, John suddenly wanted to scream. He wanted to storm right into the headquarters and demand to see the person in charge because he and Sherlock were meant to be together. Couldn’t they see it?! John could feel it with every fiber of his being, every atom and piece of DNA vibrated with the thought of Sherlock being his soulmate. Every part of him seemed to come alive and scream, “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock!”

 

It was only when John came out of his thought did he look up to find Sherlock staring at him in a funny way, “Are you alright John? It seems as though you became suddenly aggravated, and your facial expressions became more and more distressed as time went on...Something wrong?” Usually, Sherlock would have been able to read a person like a book, no matter what, However, there was something about John, perhaps it was because he couldn’t see his eyes as he was thinking, that hid the reason for his feelings. John shook his head and forced a smile on his face. “No, everything’s alright for sure. Just thinking, Don’t be mistaken though, I really am enjoying our dance.” Sherlock could see the genuinity of the comment radiating off John, and so he smiled. They carried out the rest of the dance in silence, every once and a while giving each other reassuring smiles. When the song concluded, Mycroft and Greg swept over to them with wide smiles, “Well brother mine, I must say, it gives me immense amounts of pleasure to see you out on the dance floor. Could it be all in an attempt to impress me at how civil you’re acting at our Joining?” Sherlock scowled and said indignantly, “Must you assume that everything is about you Mycroft? Cor, if you’re looking for someone to dote on you, Gregory’s standing right there.” Mycroft smirked at Sherlock before giving a more genuine smile at Greg. “Yes, and he does so dote on me. However, we cannot dance with each other all night, it would be rude to our company. We thought we would allow you two to dance with each of us first, as it is you simply love our attention.” Sherlock seethed slightly, and glaring at his brother, hissed, “ _I am not dancing with **you**._ ” Mycroft chuckled, and said, “That much was to be expected, dear brother. Please, do try not to be so predictable, I would so hate for you to turn into what you despise. No, you’ll be dancing with my Gregory.” And with that, Mycroft all but shoved Greg into Sherlock, and carried John away. An amused smile still lingered on the lips of the new Soulmates, and they laughed together from different areas of the room, silently, at the mischief they had gotten up to.

***

They so loved to torture Sherlock, and though it may sound mean, the couple only meant it in good fun. After all, Sherlock’s crazy behavior was what brought them together, and for that they would both be eternally grateful to him. Greg was thinking about all of this as he and Sherlock whisked about the dance floor. He really didn’t want to speak very much to Sherlock, all he knew was Mycroft wanted to speak to John, and as Mycroft’s soulmate, Greg could read him fairly easily and followed his plan quite well. But one of them had to say something, or soon Greg would surely melt into the ground from the sheer uncomfortableness. So he began, “Evening, Sherlock. How did you like the ceremony? I thought it went quite well.” Sherlock gave a sarcastic smile and said, “It was horrifically dull and terribly long. Though, admittedly not as long as it could have been. Congratulations on not boring me to tears. Oh, and speaking of the ceremony, John sends his condolences to you two.” Greg’s natural smile faltered a bit, and he decided to give Sherlock a bit of a warning,  “You and him seem to have really hit it off, huh? But do you really think it wise to become attached so quickly? I mean, you know the dangers of falling for the wrong person.” Sherlock grimaced and quickly diverted the conversation back to something a little lighter.  

“Oh quit the small talk, Greg. You do know how much I despise pointless conversations. Let’s talk about something more interesting than my love life. Let’s talk about my dearest brother, Mycroft. ”

Sherlock and Lestrade continued to spin around in lazy circles, but both men silently thought to themselves that it wasn’t quite as fun as having their other partners with them. Sherlock felt more at ease with John, and Greg was practically an extension of Mycroft himself, so naturally he felt better with his soulmate. Bringing his mind back to the conversation, Greg spoke again, “What is there to say?”

“Well, for starters, let’s talk about the way he stole my dancing partner. What is it that he wanted so badly to talk to John about? And why couldn’t he have said it in front of me?” Greg sighed. Sherlock was a great bloke and all, but he could be a bit childish at times. “Sherlock, I know Mycroft really well, but I can’t read his mind. I can tell he wanted to speak to John and that it was about something important, and he didn’t want you to overhear. He was also anxious and a bit stressed. But, that’s all I got, sorry. After all, aren’t you supposed to be the consulting detective here? Why don’t you work your magic, Mr. Holmes?” Sherlock snorted. “I may be a consulting detective, but Mycroft knows all my tricks. It would certainly be easy enough for him to hide his emotions and thoughts from me. I’m surprised you could even sense that much about him, Greg. You two must have a really strong bond.”

Greg blushed, and by that time, the song was winding down. Both men stepped away from each other, eager to find where Mycroft and John had gotten to. “Pleasure to dance with you, Gregory. I had an acceptable time. But we really should be finding my brother and John. Lord knows what those two have gotten up to. Neither of them excel in the art of practiced swaying.” Greg chuckled at the formal way Sherlock insulted his Soulmate. “I agree. We both know Mycroft isn’t as light on his feet as he used to be. Now, let’s go. I assume I’ll be seeing more of you, so I’ll talk to you later. Goodbye, Sherlock.”

“And you, Lestrade.”

And with that, the two men were off to find themselves their dancing partners.

***

Meanwhile, Mycroft and John were not faring half so well. Both of their previous partners had been the ones to lead, and now neither of them really knew what to do. Mycroft, being the man that he is, had of course assumed the leading position, but he didn’t really know how to lead, and he surely did not have the same connection with John as Sherlock had. Both of them ended up stumbling around in what could just barely pass as a dance. However, neither of them really cared to notice how embarrassed they should have been, because the conversation the two were wrapped up in was causing much more worry. As soon as they pair had pulled away from Sherlock and Greg, Mycroft had begun the dance. He smiled civilly at John, but there was hardly any true emotion behind the curl of his lips, and it was nothing compared to the grin he always granted Gregory. “So John,” he had begun, his tone even and tinged with honey, “you are a close friend of Gregory’s, are you not?” John had nodded and said, “Yeah, we’ve been best mates since Uni. We met through some mutual friends, and we realized we took a lot of the same classes, so we ended up studying and hanging out together a lot.” Mycroft kept the thin smile on his lips and continued on, “Yes, he was quite pleased to learn you would be able to attend.” John was no Sherlock Holmes, but even he couldn’t miss the fond tone that had crept into Mycroft’s voice when he was talking/thinking about Greg. It made him want to smile, it was so sweet. However, Mycroft soon interrupted his thoughts with a not so pleasant tone. “And you just had the pleasure of dancing with my dear brother, Sherlock. It seems as though you two were getting along _rather well_ for a first meeting. One would even be suspicious that you two had, oh, say, _made a connection_.” Mycroft’s gaze went hard, and John gulped slightly, feeling exceedingly uncomfortable with the sudden interrogation. Mycroft was like Sherlock, he observed, but Mycroft was also vastly different; it didn’t look as though he was fascinated by John, it looked as though he was trying to pry John open, force his way into his thoughts and secrets. “I-I suppose you could say that…I mean, as you said, we’ve just met and all. Sherlock is quite a good dancer though…he’s a wonderful partner, he even made someone like me look good dancing.” John chuckled nervously at the end of his stuttering, feeling his discomfort creep to his face in the form of heat. Mycroft suddenly pulled John a bit closer, and began speaking to him in a low, dangerous whisper. “Listen well Doctor Watson, for this will be the only warning I grant you. I’ve seen those looks before. You think my brother is good at deductions? Well, I’m smarter and even better at them, and frankly, I am not pleased with what I see. Sherlock may not care, but I do, and I have made it my job to watch out for him. I know that the name on his wrist is not ‘John’, and it isn’t ‘Watson’ either.” He paused for a moment to look at John with disdain, before going back to hiss, “ _You’re not meant for him_. Do not make a mistake, I know what happens when people ‘fall’ for the wrong person. _I. Will. Not. Have. That. Happen. To. My. Brother_.” The song ended, and Mycroft slowed the dance with which he had been pulling John through. He resumed his polite manner and pulled away from John, plastering a fake smile on his lips. “This is for you too, Doctor Watson. I would hate to see you get hurt. I do hope you understand.” John was only able to blink up at Mycroft, mouth slightly agape and totally lost for words. “Hmmm, yes, well, I really must be on my way, I must go find Gregory. Goodbye for now John, and I do hope we may see each other sometime on better terms. I think I remember Gregory mentioning he wanted you to visit in the near future…I should think it would be nice. Well, goodbye.” And with one more smile that looked genuine, but John knew was strained, Mycroft turned on his heel and gracefully strode towards Greg.

***

John was left there, stood in the middle of the dancefloor with his jaw practically hitting the floor. Make no mistakes, Mycroft Holmes was an amazing man, but quite frankly, he scared John. And as John was thinking about all this, he noticed Sherlock weaving through the throng of people about the floor to find him again. John didn’t know how he felt about all this….Should he run and hide or embrace Sherlock with open arms? His heart and body and every fiber of his being said the latter, but Mycroft’s words rung again in John’s mind, _You’re not meant for him. Do not make a mistake._ And also,   _I know that the name on his wrist is not ‘John’, and it isn’t ‘Watson’ either._ Honestly, that was the part that crushed John the most. Here he was, acting all high and mighty, thinking he actually had a chance with Sherlock. What a fool he’d been! To think the great Sherlock Holmes might be interested in _him_. What a joke.

While these thoughts wrecked mayhem on John’s mind, another conflict was occurring, but on the opposite side of the room. Greg and Mycroft were speaking in low but furious voices. Greg said, “Mycroft what the hell was that? You just left me alone with Sherlock and swept off to take John as your partner? I mean, I love messing with Sherlock just as much as you do, but this might have gone a bit too far….” Greg let the sentence trail off, but Mycroft wasn’t having any of it. He leaned in closer to Greg, and to an outsider, it might have looked like the two were trying to whisper sweet nothings into their new soulmate’s ear. Instead, Mycroft remarked quietly, “Gregory, in no way did I mean to hurt your feelings. I thought you were acquainted with the idea of me speaking to John about his and Sherlock’s relationship, but it appears my assumption was incorrect. I apologize profoundly, and I suppose that to repay you for putting up with me, I could do this.” And with those words, Mycroft closed the final gap between them and began to lightly trace the outline of Greg’s lips with his own. It was sweet and chaste and everything a second kiss after becoming soulmates should be, void of tongues battling and teeth smashing and all that. They would save those parts for later. However, all good things must come to an end, and Greg eventually pulled away to reconnect his lungs with the taste of air. Both men sighed in contentment and at the feeling of being utterly whole and complete.

***

As they pulled slightly away from each other, Greg started at Mycroft and attempted to give him a hard glare, though it was evident that his anger had ebbed away. “Now don’t you go around thinking that can get you out of everything like that. I’m still mad you know,” he said, but with absolutely no force at all. “Of course, dearest Gregory. I would never think you could be won over so easily. Perhaps I’ll find a way to make it up to you _later_.” At that Greg chuckled, and allowed Mycroft to pull him into his arms and hold him close to his chest. “So,” Greg said, angling his body so he was able to look up at Mycroft, “what were you two talking about that was so intense? Poor John looked like he was about to pass out…” Mycroft thought carefully for a moment before replying, and tried his best to hide the look of discomfort that threatened to pass over his face. “Well, I was just commenting on his new found companionship in Sherlock. Simply warning him about the dangers of associating himself with my brother.” Greg chuckled again at that, obviously not realizing the nature of Mycroft’s “warning”, “Well, the poor lad, you probably scared him off! Sherlock’s going to be so sad to have lost a new plaything so soon. Ah, well, at least John can still hang out with us.” Mycroft smiled good-naturedly at his soulmate, but his mind couldn’t help secretly whispering, _If we’re lucky, he **will** go away_.

 

But while Mycroft was smiling, Greg could tell something was a little off. The way Mycroft moved, a little stiffer and more poised, the way his eyes didn’t crinkle and his hands held Greg a little tighter than normal. Greg had become so accustomed to Mycroft, the way he held himself and his facial expressions that he could read him better than any consulting detective. And so, he spoke up. “Mycroft?” Mycroft looked down at Greg flush against his chest and whispered quietly, “What Gregory?” “There’s something you’re not telling me. Something about John. I know you were trying to help Sherlock, but maybe you should just let him live a little bit. You know, try new things. Grow.” Mycroft scowled into his partner’s hair. “If by ‘new things’ you mean John Watson, then I’d rather not get my brother involved. I mean, Watson is an esteemed gentleman, but I’m almost damn sure he isn’t Sherlock’s soulmate It’s just all wrong Greg.” Greg sighed, but let the subject drop for the moment. Right now, he was content with where he was; pressed into his soulmate’s chest as they swayed gently back and forth to the light rhythm in the background. As long as Greg was here, safely in Mycroft’s arms, the entire free world could be exploding for all he cared.

 

Sherlock looked at John and a small frown formed on his lips. _How does Mycroft manage to mess things up so magnificently all the time? He must practice in the mirror, one simply is not that proficient in stepping into other people’s way and standing in the way like the_ … “John, you’re troubled. Is everything alright?” John glanced up at Sherlock and wrung his hands. Sherlock made eye contact, and in a single second, he knew. “Mycroft’s told you to stay away from me, hasn’t he?” John nodded, slightly guilty, and continued to wring his hands. “I’m sorry Sherlock…Argh, this is such a mess. I- I’m at a bit of a loss for what to do…I just-” Sherlock studied John as he struggled through his speech. He thought carefully for a moment about the situation. _Damn it Mycroft!_ Oh, if he lost all the data, if he never got to figure out John Watson…heads were sure to roll. He needed more time, he needed to be away from his brother, he needed… “John,” he said, abruptly, interrupting John, who had continued to apologize and the like. “I presume you would like to continue meeting with me. Well, actually, I know that you do: your facial expressions are quite self-explanatory. I have a plan.” John looked up, and Sherlock’s insides got warmer as they saw the hope in his eyes. “Really? That would be great Sherlock, it’s bloody stupid your brother gets to make all the rules. So, what’s the plan?” Sherlock got a very smug smile on his face, and turned away from the direction of his brother, for had he seen it, he would have known in an instant. “I have found companionship in the a lady, Mrs. Hudson, who is in possession of a small building of flats, on Baker Street. She owes me a favor, and I can ask to use one of her empty flats for anything I chose…I believe it was flat 221B. Anyhow, I believe this would be the perfect meeting place for us, should we ever want to see each other again. It’s under the radar, and my brother is clueless to its existence.” John could feel the warm seeping back into him, and the tension in John’s stomach finally started to unfurl. “That sounds great,” he smiled. Sherlock smiled back, then pulled out his mobile. “I’ll text you the details. Number?”

 

John smiled and held out his hand for Sherlock’s phone. He tapped his number in and handed the device back to the consulting detective. “I really hope you’ll come through on your promise, you seem brilliant and I would love to see more of you. But right now, I think you’re brother and Lestrade are looking for you….” Sure enough, Greg and Mycroft were weaving through the crowd, trying to find Sherlock. Sherlock groaned. “I was so looking forward to making more of your acquaintance, John. I suppose we’ll just have to meet up sooner then. Will tomorrow work for you?” John beamed up at Sherlock. “Tomorrow is perfect. I can’t wait.” Now was clearly the time for him to leave, but John suddenly couldn’t think of what to do? Did he shake Sherlock’s hand? Or just walk away? Should he say something else? But Sherlock made all of this simple soon enough, he pulled John into an embrace that made John’s heart race. But all too soon it was over, and Sherlock was beginning his brisk walk away and John called after him, ”Tomorrow!” That tomorrow was filled with hope and promises and freedom, freedom to talk to Sherlock without any brothers or fancy parties to distract them.

 

Mycroft watched Sherlock and John share their embrace disdainfully. That was _not_ part of the plan. _This_ attachment _will_ not _be allowed to survive_ , he thought grimly to himself. It seemed to him as though John Watson had chosen not to take his advice…well, he would soon find there was more than one ways to guarantee his removal. Sherlock came up to the pair, and on his lips, a small, smug smile sat. “Were you looking for me?” Sherlock asked, coolly regarding his brother. Mycroft looked into the eyes of his brother. Pupils…dilated, but not enough that would be noticed by the common folk. And…understanding. He knew that Mycroft had been talking to John and trying to keep John away, but the anger was not all there. So, either he didn’t know that Mycroft had made a threat, or he was purposefully swaying his appearance to throw Mycroft off. “Yes, in fact, we were,” Mycroft replied stiffly. “It’s high time for you to socialize with someone _other_ than Doctor Watson, wouldn’t you say so, _dear_ brother?” Greg listened to the conversation from where he stood beside Mycroft. He didn’t miss the strained quality of his soulmate voice, nor the dangerously low tone he had taken on. It didn’t make him happy to see Mycroft like this, and it made his blood boil to think the Holmes boys were having a row on the day of his _soulmate ceremony_. _Nope_ , he thought will a slight tone of bitterness to himself, _not today they won’t_. He was going to put an end to this right here, right now. “Well boys, I’m sure you guys will have plenty of time to catch up later tonight…well, perhaps not _tonight_ , Mycroft and I will be rather busy. However, I would say that we have been sorely disregarding the rest of the people here, would you Mycroft? Yes, it’s _high time_ we talked to _someone other than Sherlock_. We’ll see you later mate, right? Brilliant.” Mycroft and Sherlock both took a moment to stop talking and stare at Greg, They weren’t used to him being so assertive, and simply making the decision. Mycroft was particularly distracted…he found that Gregory looked _exceedingly appealing_ when he acted so in charge. However, he and Sherlock never did get the chance to respond, for at that moment, a female voice came from behind the couple and said, “I have to say boys, I am _rather_ disappointed. I have been here for at _least_ 2 hours, and no one has come to greet me! I say, is that any way to treat your mother?”   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! So we've meant to post this chapter sooner, but you know.....distractions. Anyway, it's here now, and that's what really counts :) We should be posting another chapter soon, probably before another week can pass, so be sure to be on the lookout for that! Other than that, we would just really like to thank everyone who has read our stories, it really makes us smile seeing the results, especially because we're so new to this :) 
> 
> ~You've just seen a Glimpse inside My_Mind_Palace


	4. Mummy Comes to Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, potential triggers (Sherlock almost cuts himself), mild swearing, Mummy Holmes being a sass master.

All three men whipped around as they heard the high pitched voice call out from behind them. Mycroft was the first to recover from the surprise, he waltzed over to Mrs. Holmes and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Mother, dear, I do apologize profusely. Gregory and I were just preparing to mingle throughout the guests. The only thing stopping us was your lovely son….needless to say, Sherlock was being rather, ah, _difficult_.” He said the last line with a meaningful glance in Sherlock’s direction, a glance that said _Yeah, I just called you out to our mother. And what can you do about it, huh?_ Sherlock jumped into the conversation quickly, eager to save both his pride and throw Mycroft under the bus. “Actually, Mycroft was being quite intrusive. He successfully scared away a pleasant acquaintance of mine that I met this evening. He was being quite childish actually, pulling out the mighty big brother card.” Mycroft scowled at his brother’s remark, and Greg rolled his eyes at the ridiculous brothers. Mycroft raised his voice, and by then, he was practically bellowing. “Acquaintance? Sherlock, please. I saw the way you looked at each other. But it’s all wrong, can’t you see? He’s not your soulmate! He barely even _knows_ you!”

But the argument was soon to be extinguished, for now was time for Mummy to step in. “Sherlock, Mycroft please stop acting so foolish. You’re just embarrassing yourselves. Sherlock, stop being so rude to your brother and let him enjoy his special day with Gregory. And Mycroft, let Sherlock be, at least for right now. You’ll have plenty time to meddle later. Oh, and I forgot to mention. Congratulations to the happy couple! Now, both of you should go. Mingle, enjoy the party and each other. Goodnight!” And with that, she all but pushed Mycroft and Greg to where the majority of the ceremony attendees were.

***

Mummy may have pushed Greg and Mycroft into the crowd, but Mycroft was not fooled for a second. Later, Mummy would spring up again unexpectedly, and there would be no escape from the inevitable conversations they would have. However, it was nice to be talking to someone other than Sherlock for once. Both Greg and Mycroft were now able to display their affection for each other publically, and they took full advantage of this, They held hands and always talked to a person/group together, no matter who it was. It seemed that they had been connected at the hip, and simply couldn’t leave each other. Sherlock however, was still trapped with Mummy. As soon as she had pushed the other boys away, she rounded at once on him. “Sherlock Holmes, who do you think you are to withhold your person from your _mother_?!?!” She demanded, fixing Sherlock with the intense gaze he usually gave other. Well, he had to have got it from somewhere. “I’m sorry Mummy, but you might have heard Mycroft mention that I was in the company of-” “Someone who is far less important than your mother, from what I have gathered. That simply will not be an excuse. It’s not as if you had obligation like your brother…and you never call!” Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes a bit. “SHERLOCK HOLMES TELL ME YOU ARE NOT ROLLING YOUR EYES AT THIS PRESENT MOMENT!” Right, that was wrong. “Allow me to apologize most adamantly Mummy. I believe that speaking with Mycroft for so long has left me in a bit of ill humor.” Mrs. Holmes sniffed, indignant. “Still, I see no reason as to why you would conduct yourself in such a manner with me. I had rather deemed that you were better bred than that.” _Well_ , Sherlock thought, _many of my acquaintances would actually beg to differ_.“It has been completely my fault that we have fallen out of contact,” Sherlock pronounced, “it seems as though I have been investing myself too…fully into my work. I apologize once again.”

Mummy smiled. “Good. Now, let’s get on to the more interesting topics. Who is this acquaintance Mycroft spoke of?” And suddenly, Sherlock was being bombarded with questions about John. “Oh, Sherlock, is he your soulmate? Is he Hamish? When can I meet him? Is he good looking? What does he do for a living? When are you two meeting again? I’m so proud of you!”

Mrs. Holmes was beaming by this point, but Sherlock’s voice was laced with sadness and a little regret. “Mother, please. I did absolutely nothing, there is no reason to be proud. He. Is. An. _Acquaintance_. Nothing more, nothing less. His name is John Watson, and he’s a doctor. We met on the patio, he didn’t want to socialize and neither did I. We spoke for a few minutes, and we danced. That’s all.” But Sherlock could feel a pang in his chest. It hurt him so much to speak of John like this: such a wonderfully enthralling man reduced to a common nothing. There was a hole in his heart, and even though he knew it wasn’t an advantage to care, he couldn’t seem to help himself. John was different, somehow. Sherlock just wished he could understand _why_! He wasn’t Hamish, and Sherlock almost never made friends. So how could this one man reduce him to all this? This mess of feelings and emotions and _sentiment_. Sentiment. What a strange word. Foreign, almost. Horrible. Sherlock frowned at the way it sounded in his mind.

His train of thought was soon interrupted by his mother speaking again. “That’s all? I feel positively disappointed by your lack of news. I’m sorry he wasn’t the One, Sherlock. I saw the way your eyes changed when you started talking about him. That man must be special, his soulmate is sure to be one lucky fellow.”

Sherlock felt his chest constricting in the most discomforting way. _Hmmmm_ , he thought miserably to himself, _I wasn’t aware that emotional attachment caused the body to turn against its owner._ Mummy watched Sherlock, and after a moment of silence, she patted his cheek. “There, there darling. Yours will come. And anyhow, how could he not,” she said, slightly smug. “After all, I do have the most handsome boys in all of England.” Sherlock allowed himself to roll his eyes at that. “Yes, even if one of your boys happens to be consuming more than half of the baked goods in all of England.” Sherlock’s mother feigned surprise. “Really Sherlock, I hadn’t realized you had become so enamoured with sweets. I had rather thought you still resented eating in general…” Sherlock had to smile at his Mummy’s lame attempt at humor; she was the only one in the family to try, and the only one to succeed. She let out her tinkling laugh, and Sherlock allowed himself to let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. Even he had to admit, he had missed her.

John, however, had still been left to his own devices after the exit of the Holmes boys and Greg, and frankly was feeling a bit lost again. He had decided after a moment of looking around lost that he would simply visit Greg some other time, and apologize for leaving. Besides it had felt like the right time to leave. Outside the grand place, John flagged down a taxi and hopped in, He gave the address to his little flat, and thought about dancing with Sherlock. Checking to see if the cabbie was watching, and seeing that he wasn’t, John pulled back the leather of his bracelet just a bit to glance at the name on his wrist. **William** was still there, neatly written in bold, black ink. John sighed. _And it would stay there,_ he thought, trying hard not to start crying in the back of the cab, _Forever_.

***

John looked up again as he felt the taxi slowing down, and he noticed the familiar trees and street signs. He was soon in front of his flat. Paying the driver and jumping out of the taxi, John was then bounding up the stairs to his quaint little apartment.. He opened the door and set his keys down on the table near the door. Soon enough, John was ready to almost fall asleep standing up. Deciding it would be a good idea to get enough rest for his meeting with Sherlock tomorrow, he climbed into bed and settled among the blankets. Then, he closed his eyes and began to think. It was that sort of half-living, half-dreaming, fluctuating between the worlds thinking, where you’re too tired to think of anything but the best parts of your day. John’s thinking consisted almost entirely of Sherlock. He didn’t know what it was about him, but those sparkling eyes and that booming laugh, and the way they twirled about the dance floor made John swoon like a teenage girl. John couldn’t get Sherlock out of his head, and it was equal parts infuriating and wonderful.

***

While John was successfully home and ready for sleep, Sherlock was _still_ stuck at the blasted Soulmate party. The party was tedious and long and taking _forever_ , and it wasn’t the same without John there. John’s appearance in Sherlock’s life had made even the horrible soulmate ceremony seem fun, and that seemed quite a feat to Sherlock. Not many humans had the ability to cheer him up, and not even the people that knew him really well understood the dustiest corners of his soul. Standing alone, Sherlock’s figure looked forlorn and sad without the compact doctor at his side.

Finally, when all of the annoying guests of the party had left, Sherlock was able to sneak away from the others. Besides, he had no desire to hear what Greg and Mycroft would get up to, seeing that they were alone for the first time as Soulmates. Sherlock hopped in a cab and drove off, knowing that he would see his family again soon enough, and that they would text/call if they needed him urgently.

Getting back to his flat, Sherlock began pacing back and forth. His mind was in an intense amount of disarray, and it was beginning to hurt. There was simply too much information, and it was clashing with all the data he had previously obtained. He practically ripped his silver bracelet from his wrist, which left it red and smarting. Hamish. That damn name was still there. Suddenly, he hoped for a much more plain name, but one that belonged to a person who was not plain at all. John seemed…complicated. Like a puzzle that was halfway filled in, but then changed rules abruptly in the middle, and then switched up the solution at the end. Sherlock could remember in vivid detail _every single thing_ about John Watson, but he still seemed to know nothing. There was something different about him; something going on that was out of the ordinary. He was just… “Argh!” Sherlock cried out in frustration as a wave of pain hit his brain, and he looked around wildly, seeing nothing. The pain was so intense, it felt like his brain was trying to cave in on himself. He couldn’t think properly like this…and for once in his life, he couldn’t…couldn’t _control_ himself. It was frightening, and the waves of emotion hit Sherlock, and mingled with the pain. Sherlock found himself on the ground, writhing around from the ache and the tears that had made him collapse. STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!!!! He screamed at himself. He had to do something. But he couldn’t think straight. Sherlock got up abruptly as his muddled mind had an idea. Running to the kitchen, Sherlock produced a large knife and held it over his wrist. _I’ll just scratch out Hamish, and then, I won’t have to be with him. Yes, I could be with anyone. I could be with John._ He was just about to make the first cut to his skin, when suddenly the situation came crashing back to him. The knife dropped, and Sherlock stared at it in disgust as it laid on the floor. How completely… _illogical_ of him. The pain in his head began to dull as he set up invisible barriers, and he got his emotions under control. He let one last tear drip down his face before wiping it away with a sigh. He needed a nicotine patch. Or two. Or three. NOW.

Once settled onto the couch with a sufficient amount of nicotine coursing through his veins, Sherlock began to dwell on the complexity that was John Watson. He was so torn up about this man, he could hardly stand it! Sherlock Holmes was not a man to cry at a….whatever John was to him. Acquaintance? Friend? Potential Soulmate? _No, Sherlock! You need to stop that this instant. John Watson is NOT Hamish, he is not your soulmate!_ At this point, Sherlock’s words to himself hurt him more than any person speaking aloud ever could, because if nothing else, at least Sherlock could expect the truth from himself. Other people, they were wild cards, throwing their emotions down on the table and wearing their hearts on their sleeves. But at least he could trust himself. Or that’s what he thought before he met John. John caused him to doubt the one thing that had never failed him before: his mind. Sherlock began to seriously debate with himself whether he was going insane or not, whether or not this was the time to check himself into a mental asylum and be done with it. Picking up his train of thought, Sherlock began to muse over John some more. It would suffice to stop thinking about him as soon as possible. _On the other hand, John is practiced in the skills of medicine, so it would be useful to discuss medical terms with him. Plus, John is also really kind, I am sure he would jump at the chance to help anyone, and that may come in handy. Not to mention he treated Sherlock like a normal human being. That was a nice change. Usually people either regarded him with high esteem or hated his guts. There was no in-between._ And now, Sherlock was having mental arguments with himself. Yep, definately going insane. But he couldn’t take this anymore! The thoughts of John were driving him up the wall. Oh, how he needed a distraction…..

Glancing around the room, Sherlock’s eyes suddenly fell upon his violin. _Ah_ , Sherlock thought to himself, _that’s a diversion if I’ve ever seen one._ So he fluidly arose to his feet and plucked the little instrument from its resting place on the carpet. Sherlock ran his fingers along the smooth, polished wood and began to pluck the strings mindlessly. Soon enough, he had picked up his bow and began to play a full on medly, worthy of the orchestra itself. He soon lost himself in the music, too involved in chord progression and the fixation on the bridge, and John left his mind completely. It was pure bliss, but at the same time a bit lonely. Sherlock loved the thoughts of John, they had been there for many hours, and when removed from his brain, they left a little hole. But Sherlock was undisturbed, for that hole was sure to be filled on the morrow, when Mr. Watson came round to visit him.

***

Sherlock played all night. He hadn't meant to, but it had already been late when he had began, and the sun peaked over the tops of buildings as he finished. Soon enough, Sherlock slowed his song and sat down on the couch, allowing himself to pluck the strings once more. His horrible body, in all its ways, was beginning to malfunction again. He had not lied to his mother when he had said he threw himself into his profession; Sherlock had not slept for four days now, after working on a particularly challenging case. It would be solved, of course, only by him, and so he had worked long hours, which he didn’t mind. However, his body had other feelings. Sherlock laid down on the couch, and pressed the palms of his hands together. He then placed his hands beneath his chin, so that only the tips of his long fingers brushed the small space. He hadn’t had the intention of sleeping, but sleep it what came. He had pushed himself too far again, and this was the price.

***

John awoke the next morning as well, though he was waking up as Sherlock finally closed his eyes. John was feeling cheerful; he was about to see Sherlock again, and for some reason he felt like a schoolboy on Christmas morning. Eagerly, John climbed out of bed and went to check on his phone, which was on the table with his keys. He clicked it on and…there were no texts. Sherlock hadn’t texted him. It was the most ridiculous feeling, but he still felt the sting of the rejection. John tried not to let his spirits fall, and resolved to think that Sherlock would text him later in the day, and then he would be able to visit. So John busied himself as best he could. He made tea, and breakfast, some more tea, and some lunch. He watched telly. He read a few medical articles. He listened to the news. All the while, John checked his phone every 5 minutes, and watched as the hours slid by. By nighttime, John had no more hope left. He climbed into bed feeling tired, but not sleepy, and cried quietly in the dark. He’d been stood up… _What could a man like Sherlock want with me anyway?_

In his own flat, Sherlock slept all day. He didn’t hear when the texts John sent to him came through, and he definitely couldn't hear John quietly sobbing miles away.

***

When Sherlock came to, it was nighttime again. Almost two in the morning, to be exact. He was awaken by a soft “Bing!” from the opposite side of the room. He groggily rubbed his eyes and ruffled his curly hair, then arose up from his position on the leather couch. He eagerly crossed the room in three strides, hoping it would be an interesting case from Lestrade or a text from Mycroft assuring all was well with him and his mate. However, neither of these theories was correct and Sherlock was a bit confused when he first read the name on the screen. “John Watson.”

 _John Watson???_ JOHN WATSON! Sherlock had completely forgot! Cursing himself and his incompetence under his breath, he rushed to call John. His fingers flew across the digital screen, and soon a voice came rushing into his ear like the first ray of sunlight in winter. “Sherlock, what the hell? I’ve been calling you and texting you all day! I thought you’d forgotten about me….. I was kinda dissapointed in you. You….you let me down. I thought you would do better than this.” Those words pierced through Sherlock’s heart like a bullet, destroying the quivering mass that was left in his chest. _John….missed me? He actually wanted to engage my presence? What a pleasant surprise. And now look what I’ve accomplished! I need to make it up to him, but_ how?

As Sherlock was pondering all this, the voice spoke again. “Um, Sherlock? Hello?” He needed to respond quickly, he needed to respond with something witty and clever. _Hurry, Sherlock! This is your chance to make it up to him for making him wait the entire day!_ “Er…..hi.” _That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? You’ve solved murder mysterious that even the British Government Himself couldn’t figure out, and all you could come up with was er….hi?_ But John laughed on the other end of the line, so Sherlock supposed what he said wasn’t too horrendous. It wasn’t Shakespeare, but then again, who needed to be as proper as Shakespeare in this day and age? It wasn’t nearly as sophisticated nor as poised as Sherlock would have liked to portray himself, but he supposed that for now, it would do. At any rate, John didn’t seem to mind.

“Er hi yourself. Uhh, Sherlock, I should be so mad at you…but I’m not. It’s just nice to hear your voice, and know that you’re okay.” Sherlock blinked a bit a that, and he wondered to himself for a moment. _I’ve been losing my mind over someone who is so easy. John’s simply too easy…_ Sherlock did feel the guilt, but the barriers surrounding John’s memory were crumbling fast. Clearing his throat once, he said, “Yes, I’m sorry that I should have caused you any sort of distress, but it does please me that you have found a way to forgive me. My only regret is that we did not get to participate in any sort of engagement together yesterday.” John sighed a little bit on the end, but Sherlock did not detect any sort of discontent. “It’s alright…though you’d better have a hell of an excuse.” Panicking slightly, Sherlock wondered if it would do best to tell the truth, or lie. _Truth_ , a small voice in his head said, _he’d like the truth._ Sherlock took a deep breath and blew it out before starting. “I…I don’t mean to sound ridiculous, but I was actually sleeping for the entirety of the day. If you would allow me to explain, I hadn’t slept for about four days, and I suppose that the human body does require some time to recuperate.” Sherlock could hear the small gasp at the other end of the line. “Sherlock, you can’t be serious, can you?” John’s voice raised a bit over the line. “That’s so unhealthy for you, you can’t allow yourself to crash like that. Hell, if you continue along this path, the first place we’ll hang out together will be in the surgery I work at.” Sherlock allowed himself to chuckle at this, and on the other end of the line, John felt a surge of warmth and a grin settle on his face. “I am perfectly capable of functioning, thank you very much John. However, I still would like to take you up on my previous proposal? To meet at 221B Baker Street? I can text you the details, if you would like, and we might be able to spend today together…” A small tinge of timidness came at the end of Sherlock’s sentence, and John found it to be completely adorable. “Yeah, that would be great Sherlock, I’d really like that. Anyway, text me, alright. Unlike you, I _cannot_ go without my sleep...So I’ll see you later?” Sherlock smiled at the happy tone of John’s voice. He rather liked it, it was so soothing, unlike the mindless prattle the people around him usually produced. “Sounds perfect, John. I will text you straight away. Until later, goodbye.” Sherlock couldn’t see it, but on the other end of the phone, John was also smiling. However, Sherlock could tell, because a person’s voice contorts with their mouth in a certain way when it is maneuvered into a smile. However, these facts were nothing compared to the even _warmer_ tone of voice John took on, which gave him away in an instant. “Goodnight.” There was a small beep as the call ended, and Sherlock let a small sigh escape him. John let out a similar sigh himself, and settled back to bed, wondering how he could have been crying before.

Sherlock settled himself back on the couch with his mobile, and began to construct the text that would bring about a companion. It read as follows:

**I sincerely apologize for my behavior yesterday. Allow me to make it up to you this evening, perhaps around 7:00? Please eat before you arrive, I doubt anything in 221B would be suitable for consumption. I look forward to sharing in your company tomorrow. As for now, however, I feel it is adequate that we both get proper rest. Goodnight, John.**

**-SH**

With the message sent and delivered, Sherlock allowed himself to sink gracefully back on to the black couch. He steepled his slim fingers under his chin and assumed his classic position, ready to resume his rest. And it was in this position that Sherlock soon sank into slumber, with his mobile phone lying in position next to him as he slept

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! So sorry we've left you waiting for so long, one of us had summer school and the other was vacationing with her family. We'll try and be better about posting, promise :) This is my first time posting without my co-author, so tell me if you find any mistakes. As always, thank you for taking time to read our fic, and feel free to comment and leave kudos!
> 
> ~You've just seen a Glimpse inside My_Mind_Palace


	5. Talking and Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mild Swearing, mild past/present family issues (Mycroft and Mummy are as cold as ice), basically all around tension (unfortunately, not the sexual kind)

When John awoke later in the morning, it was in good graces. He rolled out of his bed and quickly showered, then began to prepare for another day of lazing around his apartment. Seeing as it was a Sunday, the surgery required no work for him, as they already had three doctors working their shifts. So, with nothing to do for the day except meet Sherlock, John gladly stayed in his flannel pajamas in favor of comfort. He settled down on his couch in preparation for a bunch of crap telly, and let the rest of the day run its course.

***

While John was spending his day relaxing, Sherlock was bound by an obligation that was sure to be horrendous. Afternoon tea with Mummy, scheduled to begin around one and end long before he had to meet John. Though this event was planned to be short and sweet, Sherlock was not enthralled about meeting his mother at the Holmes’ estate. He hadn’t been there in years, it was only after seeing Mummy at the Soulmate Ceremony that convinced him to visit again. She had begged him to come visit his childhood home, seeing as he had left the mansion at the young age of eighteen. Sherlock had fled the property the moment he found an apartment of his own. Not that his life was too awful, but one can only take so much of the stifling politicians that came and went, the teas and dinners where Sherlock would stand for hours and greet people who were insufferably boring, and the endless bickering of Mycroft and Mummy about everything. So, he was not too pleased to grace the old estate with his presence, but he allowed it for the time being, for Mummy’s sake.

So, 12:55 in the afternoon held Sherlock at the front door of the mansion, not eager to start tea, but eager to get along with the process. After all, the sooner he arrived, the sooner they could finish, and the sooner Sherlock could go back to thinking about John.

***

Of course, Sherlock would not be the only one to attend the tea with Mummy. There was no such luck for Mycroft and Gregory, and after receiving the invitation the morning after their Soulmate Ceremony, both were feeling slightly annoyed. “Really, it is preposterous! To allow new soulmates only one day to themselves, and then to ask of them their undivided attention!” Mycroft was on a roll, and Gregory turned to face him on their bed. “Well, think of it like this love; She is your _mother_ , you haven’t seen her for an entire year, and we got all yesterday to ourselves,” Greg said, indulging Mycroft, and smiling devilishly at the last bit. The latter part of his statement procured a similar response from Mycroft, who settled back onto the bed so he could talk more directly to Gregory, instead of venting into the air. “It still aggravates me…I just-” Greg shushed Mycroft softly and pulled him into his arms. “I know,” he whispered into ginger hair. Gregory knew Mycroft better than anyone, so of course he knew why the relationship between the mother and son was so strained. Althea Holmes and Mycroft hadn’t always had a bad relationship, in fact they had been very close at one point, but things had taken a turn for the worst when she had introduced him to politics. Well, forced would be a better word. The Holmes family was proud, and important, and Mummy Holmes wanted her boys to fulfill their name. At first, Mycroft had been eager to please, but the pressures started to become too much, and the stress was killing him. He had been 18 at the time, and the boy he thought was his soulmate had just found his. That’s the funny thing about the names; one might meet a thousand with the name on their wrist, and it would never be right. The other boy had led him on, impressed with his money and status. It had broken Mycroft’s heart, and his job most definitely did not help the situation. His mother, however, would not allow him to quit his job. They were both far too clever, and when they clashed with each other, things got ugly fast. The argument ended with Althea threatening to disown her son, and Mycroft had been forced to stay.

And so, he built walls around himself. In his job, he became unfeeling and cold. At home, he simply became unfeeling. He was provoked easily, and flew into a rage at anything his mother had to say. The anger did not last long, and once it was gone, the only thing that remained was the stiff formalities of “family”. Mycroft detested Althea Holmes, but even with all his intelligence, he never knew how much she missed her little boy.

Mycroft and Greg stayed lying together for a long time, at least an hour, most probably more. Greg wished there was something to be done between them, but could not think how to help. And so, he simply gave Mycroft his comfort, because it was what he needed.

But lying there in the blankets with Greg, Mycroft began to truly become anxious about the upcoming tea. Though it was sure to not last longer than an hour or two, Mycroft began to wonder about the things he would say to his mother. His only consolation was that his mate would be there, and Gregory was sure to be his stability throughout this encounter.

Greg could sense Mycroft’s nerves, they practically radiated off the man in waves. He pulled his soulmate until Mycroft was practically on top of him and then held Mycroft close to his chest. Greg then lovingly rubbed soothing hands over Mycroft’s back and whispered into the locks that lay upon his head, “Mycroft, love, everything will be fine. If you get too uncomfortable, we can always make an excuse and then leave, okay? You just squeeze my hand really quickly twice and I’ll say something along the lines of leaving, alright? I don’t want our first encounter with your mother to end on unpleasant note.” After Greg’s little speech, Mycroft’s chest fluttered a little and he smiled. Greg could always make Mycroft feel better, whether it was by doing something stupid like make Mycroft laugh, or kiss Mycroft so earnestly that Mycroft felt weak at the knees. It was the best kind of comfort, knowing his soulmate was always there to make him smile. These thoughts were pleasantly running through his mind as Mycroft drifted off to sleep. Greg was soon to follow, and both of them quickly fell into the unconscious.

***

After the newly found soulmates arose from their mid-morning slumber, they decided it was time to prepare for the tea. Mycroft was already jittering nervously, but a quick kiss on the lips from Greg soon calmed him down. Both men dressed in formal attire, Mycroft in one of his typical three piece suits and Greg in a pale blue button-down. Mycroft and Greg then simultaneously glanced into the mirror, and deciding they both looked rather dashing, headed off for tea.

***

Meanwhile, the door of the Holmes Estate opened to find Sherlock Holmes himself. The petite maid smiled politely, and greeted him, “Hello Mr. Holmes, what a pleasure it is to see you again. The lady of the house has been awaiting your arrival anxiously. Please, do come in.”

Sherlock gave a small indulgent smile before stepping into his childhood home. Perhaps he should have felt something other than annoyance for the situation, but he didn’t. It didn’t do to care, and so his attachment to the place had always been minimal. The maid set off, obviously with the intention of leading him, but Sherlock soon overtook her with his long strides. He strutted far ahead, and made it to the sunny patio far before she did. By the time she got there to announce him, his mother had been exclaiming over him for a few minutes already. “Oh Sherlock, I really am extremely glad you chose to indulge me- Yes, thank you Abigail, that will be all for now. We will wait a moment longer for Mycroft and Gregory to arrive before we start with our tea.” Althea watched the girl scurry back into the house, then turned her full attention back to Sherlock.

Leading him over to the table that had been set up, she took her place at the head of the table, and Sherlock settled into one of the chairs close to her. From there, his mother began to prattle on about a royal someone-or-other who had come to pay her respects, and he sat there, doing his best to look interested. It wasn’t long, however, before they were joined by Greg and Mycroft. The two men thankfully stopped the tale with their arrival. It had been _horribly_ boring, and Sherlock could see right through his mother. It had been a story to prompt him to meet the royal’s child, and to see if they were his soulmate. Sherlock found his mother’s attempt endearing and annoying, and though he would never admit it, he was happy to see his brother and Lestrade. The two came in holding hands, but Sherlock didn’t think for a second Mycroft was as relaxed as he looked.

Once they were out on the patio, Sherlock’s mother had the same tiresome exchanges with them, and shooed a slightly flustered Abigail away to get tea. Mycroft and Gregory seated themselves opposite of Sherlock, but their hands did not move to separate. _They have a code,_ thought Sherlock, _they have a code that Mycroft will give if he needs to leave. It’s through the hands…how dull and predictable. Mycroft’s getting as slow as he is fat._ “Boys,” Althea Holmes said, turning to the new soulmates, “you both looked stunning yesterday. Why, I can’t remember seeing a lovelier soulmate ceremony, besides my own, of course. And your first dance was superb.” Mycroft smiled thinly, but the smile didn’t reached his eyes. Greg, on the other hand, chose to grin at the grand lady, and announce proudly, “With your son, Mrs. Holmes, everything is lovely. And he really takes all the credit for the dancing, he can move like no one else.” _Lies_ , Sherlock thought. _You were the one leading, and a continent would have an easier time moving._ Mummy smiled and said, “Ah, you two together looked so very happy. I can’t believe you got my Mycroft to smile!” Mycroft flinched slightly at the words “my Mycroft”, but waited until she had finished to speak. “We did not just look happy, we were happy, Mother. And don’t be illogical; it is fully in my physical abilities to smile. I simply have the power to chose when the action is put into motion.” His tone was as strained as the fake smile, and there was no mistaking the fact that his words were meant to sting.

But as soon as he felt the pulse in Gregory’s hand, his smile morphed into one that brought crinkles to the edges of his eyes. “And I simply choose to exercise this power in a way that ensure my happiness is legitimate, and I am not faking it simply for the pleasure of _others_.” The last of his words were directed straight at his mother, and though Mycroft did not want to cause a rift in his family, a man had to do what a man had to do. But Mummy played it off as not registering the comment, she simply replied with a small twitter of fake laughter.

“Oh, Mycroft. I do miss your ah, interesting sense of humor. I wish you would exercise it more in the present company.” To which Mycroft gave a goodnatured, but false, smile. At this point, Sherlock chimed in, “Interesting sense of humor indeed. Mother, dear, please have the guts to say what we were all thinking: that Mycroft has about the same sense of humor as a blade of grass.” For a second, it seemed as if Greg was going to jump to his soulmate’s defense, but Sherlock’s mouth quirked up in a small smile, and you would have to be an imbecile to realize he was not simply giving his brother a bit of grief. “Brother mine, do save your comments for another day. You do nothing but prove how childish you can still behave, and it irks me to no end.” The impish smile on Sherlock’s face gave away his next line, which was said teasingly, “Brother mine, you do realize that’s why I do it.”

Greg relaxed in his chair and enjoyed the effortless way the two brothers attacked each other, it was all rather endearing. Behind every insult was a hidden praise, and behind the “I hate you’s” there was good-natured banter between the two. It was quite odd to see two men of such high and esteemed positions go at each other like five years olds. But Mummy Holmes soon put a stop to the quips, as the tea had been served. It had come in fancily decorated white china, china with engravings on the side in the shape of roses. It was all lavishly overdone, as was the style of Mrs. Holmes.

Picking up a biscuit, Gregory began the small talk, asking both Sherlock and his soulmate’s mother about their lives. How they had been, what they had been up to, natural things like that. It steered the conversation away from any insults, and kept it free from becoming too frosty between Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft.

Soon enough, the small talk turned into real conversation, and this led to a fairly easy afternoon on all sides. By the end of the tea, all parties concurred that the day had been most agreeable. Soon enough, it was time for Mycroft and Greg to be off. They left the estate in good graces, Mycroft glad that his mother had been civil, and Greg glad simply because Mycroft was in good spirits.

Sherlock was also in a good mood, but for different reasons than Greg and Mycroft. He had chosen to leave at the same time as them, and he was eager to make his way back home. “I suppose I’ll be seeing the two of you at some point,” he had said to them, and both had nodded. “Well, Lestrade, as soon as you find something worth my time, I will come in. For the time being, try not to be too loud when you go home and have sex- Don’t look so stricken Greg, I’m not mentally impaired- As I was saying, you’re giving your neighbors a fright.” And with those last words, Sherlock had stalked off in the direction of the street, and flagged down a cab.

He now sat in said cab, checking his mobile for any new texts.

**Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you there.**

**-JW**

Sherlock read the text, then read it over. The words had finality in them, and did not require a response, and so therefore, John would find it unusual to receive one. Sherlock stored his phone away, then turned to gaze out the window. It felt strange; he hadn’t had any… _social_ engagements for quite a time, especially none with those he had only met once before. Sherlock didn’t feel apprehensive, but his stomach was contorting in an unusual way, and it was slightly unpleasant. He sat back again, and began thinking what he would do again. He hadn’t made any plans for them, and he supposed they could simply talk…but that would be infinity boring. John was unusual; he would want to do something exciting. Sherlock pursed his lips for a moment, and steepled his hands together under his chin. John would want to do something interesting, but they would have to keep themselves in 221B if they didn’t want to be found out by Mycroft. In his mind, Sherlock closed his eyes and thought for a moment, and when the idea came, a smug light came across his face.

That self-congratulatory smirk stayed on his face the whole way home, as Sherlock was _very_ excited to see its almost immediate results. His plan was brilliant! He would plan to invite John into the flat, acting as suave and smooth as always, and then they would talk for awhile. After that, his idea came into play. Sherlock Holmes would attempt to show John Watson the wonderful ways in which the violin could be played. Ah, he could picture it now! His hands guiding John’s over the delicate strings as he whispered words of encouragement into John’s ear. John’s jumper soft under Sherlock’s touch, and his lips looking full and kissable in the evening glow. The image faded gracefully from his mind, until he was left with nothing more than the back of the cabbie’s head.

And with that, he looked up and saw that he had just spent the entire cab ride thinking of John Watson. Sighing, he thought to himself, _Sherlock, you really need to pull yourself together. You are being insufferably stupid, and you must realize that John Watson has a soulmate of his own and it just happens to not be you. Sentiment is a chemical defect, you must remember this!!_ All this was happening inside his head as he glided up the staircase to his normal flat. His mission here was simple: change into a more reasonable suit, grab his instrument off the floor and head back out. All this was accomplished reasonably quickly, as he wanted to be prompt for his arrival for John. Tea had run a little later than planned, and if he wanted to be on time, then he had to hurry. Sherlock rushed back outside and hailed a cab, then instructed the driver to Baker Street.

He spent the ride lost in his mind palace, thinking of John and the weather and everything in between. But as the cab slowed down, Sherlock looked up. Realizing that it was time for him to get out, he paid the taxi and bounded up to the door of his flat. He whisked in to his flat like the wind, coat billowing and cheeks flushed from the cold London air. He shouted a quick, “Hello!” to Mrs. Hudson before sweeping up the steps to 221B. Upon entering, he realized it was something horrible. His possessions were strewn across the room, books and science experiments and papers everywhere. John would certainly be displeased at the sight of a messy flat, so he hastened to tidy up after himself.

It was not an easy task.

Sherlock had, to say it nicely, put 221B to good use. As it was that he didn’t really live there and Mrs. Hudson left the room alone, there was no reason Sherlock had to keep the place clean. Besides, the place was a wreck to begin with. Boxes were stacked in somewhat precarious piles all over the disused flat, and Sherlock conducted his experiments on the table that had remained in the kitchen. There were a few other pieces of furniture in the room that were covered with white sheets, but Sherlock had been ignoring them. Against one wall, there was a dusty fireplace, still filled with soot from the last fire. The entire space felt a bit like Sherlock’s mind: contained and organized chaos. Sherlock absolutely adored it. However, he had forced himself to use this only in times of desperate need; Mycroft would know for sure if he wasn’t careful. And so, Sherlock only conducted certain long term experiments here, and tried not to come here otherwise unless he had to. But now, the time had come to use the flat. It would serve his purpose perfectly, and there was no way Sherlock could pass up such an opportunity.

Sherlock sniffed the air tentatively, and sighed with relief when he could not smell anything putrid, Then, he strode over to two shapes covered with white cloth, and revealed them. Under one length of cloth, there was an armchair made of patterned upholstery, with rounded edges. It had a blanket draped over the back, and looked pretty comfortable. Under the other, there was a second armchair, this one made out of black leather, and with a decidedly more square figure. It’s back was straighter, yet it still managed to look just as comfortable and inviting. Sherlock moved aside some boxes and dragged them into the center of the room. He allowed himself to sit down in the black armchair, then looked around the room to survey his handiwork. It was still a mess, but at least now it would not scare the good doctor away. Sherlock got up, and retrieved his violin case from where he had left it by the entrance. He then settled back in his newly claimed armchair, withdrew his violin, and plucked the strings to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! I'm so so sorry my co-author and I have made some promises about this fic that we didn't keep, but we're on break and I'm in the writing mood so let's kill this thing! In 2015, we'll try our best to be better at posting, I mean, new year, new you, right? ;) Thank you so much for sticking with us and our fic, and for commenting, kudos, and all the love. I hope everyone had a wonderful holidays, wishing you all a kickass 2015! :D
> 
> ~You've just seen a Glimpse inside My_Mind_Palace


	6. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Extreme awkwardness (it was painful for me to edit this ahhh)

John was, to simply put it, nervous. He felt a flash flood of anxiety coursing through his veins, a pit of despair in his heart and a torrent of butterflies in his stomach. Sherlock Holmes had decided that he would take time out of his day to visit with the simplistic doctor, and that in of itself was a miracle. The next challenge would be to actually spend time together, which John was sure would scare Sherlock away. John had always felt he was a bit of a plebeian, but compared to Sherlock, he seemed like a bumbling fool. Heavens knows why Sherlock even wanted to spend time with John in the first place. But all this was soon pushed out of John’s head when he glanced up at the clock on his mantle. _Shit! I’ve only got fifteen minutes until I’m supposed to be at Baker Street!_

With that thought, John quickly jumped around the flat, putting on shoes and his bracelet and everything in between. It was no simple task, but John was ready in a couple minutes. This left him with about five said minutes to hail a taxi and arrive at Baker Street.

***

Upon arrival, John noticed nothing odd about the flat. It was a normal, multiple story building, painted white with a black door. The shop next to 221B was just a little cafe, nothing big, imposing or anything of the sort. John took a liking to the outside of the flat almost immediately. It was a typical, average flat and that’s what he found most amusing. A man like Sherlock Holmes should not own a place like this, one would assume his “apartment” would not be classified as an apartment at all. When John thought of housing for a man of Sherlock’s class and wealth, the image conjured to his mind was one of sprawling gardens and an estate bigger than all of London. Not this simplistic little flat! And that’s why John took quite a liking to Sherlock. That even though he and his family were clearly of high power and utmost importance, Sherlock didn’t let it get to his head. He didn’t prance around like a pompous git without any cares in life, he was a real person. Sherlock laughed and smiled, he danced and he yelled. He was interesting and explosive and just about everything John could ever want in a soulmate. _Dammit, John, don’t start this again. You’ll only make it harder on yourself when either you or Sherlock find your partner. Besides, it’s better this way._ But John knew deep inside his heart that he was only telling that to himself to soften the blow.

Anyhow, the time had come to go inside. He was already a bit late, and he didn’t want Sherlock to think he had blown him off. Taking a deep breath, John stepped towards the door, fully intending to knock. However, he never got the chance. At the precise moment he reached his hand up to grasp the brass door knocker, the door swung open. John jumped back with a shouted curse, and tried his best not to stumble into the street. After collecting his wits, he stared through the door for a few moments before realizing Sherlock stood there, holding the door. John let out a sigh of relief, followed by a good natured laugh. “Uh, bloody hell Sherlock, you did want to chat with me alive, right? Nearly lost me after that heart attack.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, and after a moment, John was terribly worried his lame humor had fallen even flatter than he’d expected. Finally, Sherlock spoke up. “John, the surprise that was produced due to me opening the door suddenly would not have been enough to cause a heart attack…Unless of course you had heart problems, which you don’t. Most of the men in your family do, but lucky for you, your mother’s genes saved you.” John blinked at the response, and its accuracy, for a moment, before laughing. “Well, I suppose you’re right,” he chuckled. Sherlock smiled and held the door wide. “Please, we should go upstairs before Mycroft finds out we’re-” “Here,” John finished. “Yeah, let’s go.”

***

After John had stepped in, he found himself in a short, dimly lit hallway, which let to a steep set of stairs. Sherlock closed and locked the door, then turned to John. “Shall we?” John smiled, and nodded. Sherlock began his ascent, and John followed, his heart about ready to burst. Coming to the top of the staircase, John found himself faced with another door, which was already open. Following Sherlock into the room, John saw a small, comfortable flat that was simply _covered_ with boxes and junk. Everything was cluttered, and some things looked as though they had been shoved aside. However, John felt a grin tug at his lips as he saw two armchairs in the middle of the room, perfectly untouched. His eyes lingered on the very comfortable looking armchair with a blanket draped over it before he glanced to the leather one next to it. He smiled, nearly surprised it didn’t have Sherlock’s name stamped all over it. On it, a violin made of dark wood sat, its bow artfully placed across it to lean on one of the arms of the chair. He was correct in his assumption, because Sherlock did settle into the leather armchair, picked up what John assumed was his violin. John followed suit, settling into the armchair opposite. For a moment, he allowed himself to admire the way Sherlock draped himself in his chair, almost as though he were trying to make an art exhibit of himself. John thought all of this in a  strictly friendly way, of course.

As John was examining Sherlock lounging in his chair, Sherlock was absentmindedly playing with the violin strings, each one making a soft little, “Pluck!” every time they were graced with the touch of his hands. After a couple of seconds of sitting in silence, John finally spoke. “So, Sherlock. You play? I didn’t know! Are you any good?” Sherlock scoffed at the remark. “Good? I put world renowned violinists to shame.” John had to admit, Sherlock’s cocky attitude might be an annoyance to some, but he found it very....cute almost. But not cute, because he and Sherlock were totally and completely _just friends_. Endearing would probably be a better word.

“Oh-ho! Look here Mr. Mighty, if you’re so good why don’t you prove it? Play me something.” The words were a bit harsh, but there was no cruelty behind them. They were simply banter between the two, who were so easily friends that teasing became second nature to John.

Sherlock blushed and beamed, pleased that John was so unchallenging. John was happy and effortless to get along with, “Alright then. How shall my wonderful skills grace your ears this evening? Some Bach? Perhaps Debussy? Or would you like me to treat you to one of my own compositions?”

“Original, please. If you’re as good as you claim you are, then this should be marvelous. Play away, Sherlock.”

And so, Sherlock did. He lifted the violin up to his chin, tucked it under his shoulder, and began to play. The sweet melody filled the room up, everything seemed to positively glow. John relaxed more into the comfortable armchair, and it was easy to imagine the two of them doing this often. John surly could get used to this, it would be a delight to listen to Sherlock more.

***

John wasn’t sure how long Sherlock had been playing-minutes, hours, days, weeks- and he didn’t care one bit either. It was enchanting, seeing Sherlock coax sweet sounds out of his violin, and all for him. It wasn’t just the music that got John-though that was breathtaking as well- no, it was just... _Sherlock_. The way he swayed when he played, and closed his eyes. The way he held his violin with such reverence, almost as though it were a child held to his neck instead. The way he became part of the instrument, an extension, not a separate entity, It was beautiful, one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. And it was all for him.

With all of these thoughts flowing through his head, John didn’t even realize that he had been staring at Sherlock for a longer time than he’d meant to. Sherlock also noticed this after a time, and peaked an eye open to look back at John. As soon as they made eye contact, John blushed and looked away, realizing what he’d been doing. Sherlock chuckled quietly and lowered his violin. “Well, am I as good as I boast?” He was already smugly smiling, and it was obvious that his comment hadn’t been a question. However, after such a performance, John was more than willing to humor him. “Amazing,” John breathed, “the most breathtaking I’ve ever heard. It seems that all you do is just...amazing.” Sherlock took his turn in blushing- he’d heard it all before, but hearing it from John was special, and for the first time in his life he felt happy to hear it. They both looked at each other shyly for a few more moments, before a smirk was curling Sherlock lip. “You know, you could learn how to play too.” John blinked for a moment, before he laughed and said, “Me? I hardly have the musical experience to do anything near that Sherlock.” Sherlock huffed in amusement and said, “Nonsense, of course you can. Come here.” John got up obediently and went to stand near Sherlock. Sherlock brought the violin near his throat, asking for permission, and John allowed him to situate it under his chin. Then, Sherlock gave John his bow, placing his hand over John’s to position it. Or at least that’s what it looked like.

John shivered a bit, feeling Sherlock so close. It was electrifying, in the best sort of way. “Now,” Sherlock was right by John’s ear, his hot breath blowing across and making him feel weak at the knees. “When you’re playing the violin, it’s very important that you draw the bow across in the right way. See, you have to angle it, like…this.” Sherlock, his hand still placed on John’s, guided the bow to produce sound from the violin. “See,” he smiled, “Not too bad. Alright, now place your fingers-” He guided John’s other hand to the neck of the instrument, “-here, and press.” John did as he was told, and this time, when Sherlock helped him draw the bow across, a chord was produced. “Very good John,” Sherlock murmured in his ear. John almost dropped the violin, but luckily, he was able to remember he was holding something just in time. “Now, try once by yourself,” Sherlock said, removing his hand from John’s. John dragged the bow across, and the sound that was produced was nowhere near as sweet as when Sherlock had helped him, but it was something. “Good, try again,” Sherlock smiled into the nape of John’s neck. He placed his now free hand on John’s hip, which did nothing to help the poor doctor’s concentration. John tried again, but it sounded even worse this time- hard to play the violin when you’re trembling. Sherlock chuckled, but didn’t say anything. With his sense of determination renewed, and a vow to ignore the gorgeous man nosing his neck, John tried again. This time it was better- obviously still mediocre, but better than the other two times.

“Mmm, you’re improving, John.” Sherlock breathed in deeply, and John felt his eyes begin to slide close. Then, with the slightest bit of hesitation, Sherlock pressed a kiss to the back of John’s neck. The small sound he made didn’t escape either of them, but neither one was willing to break the moment. Then there was another, and another, until Sherlock was kissing the skin behind John’s ear. The violin had slipped out from under his chin at some point, he couldn’t recall when, and was hanging loosely in his grip. Sherlock nuzzled him, and was just about to give him another little kiss when **-BBBBRRRRIIINNNNGGGG.** Sherlock’s phone rang out loud in the silent apartment. Frowning, Sherlock pulled himself from John, and John couldn’t help the deep feeling of loss that overtook him. Sherlock’s frown deepened when he saw the Caller ID, and he looked up apologetically at John. “I’m sorry…I really should take this…” John forced a smile, and gave a more curt nod than he’d meant to. Still frowning, Sherlock stepped around the boxes and into the kitchen to take his call, shutting the sliding door as best he could. John sat down in his armchair after placing Sherlock’s violin on his chair. Suddenly, the leather of his bracelet felt unnaturally tight, and the name underneath it seemed to be burning his skin.

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair, awkwardly waiting for his companion to return to the room. He was still a bit confused, he couldn’t understand the unmistakable pull he felt towards Sherlock. It was like they were two ends of a magnet, gravitating around each other as the center of the Earth aligned. It just felt so...right. And yet, when Sherlock had kissed him, John had felt bad. Because whoever this **William** guy was, he at least deserved a chance. And John felt as if he shouldn’t be gallivanting off with some handsome consulting detective in the blink of an eye. Because **William** was his soulmate, and not Sherlock. But all this was said inside John’s head without much conviction, as neither John nor Sherlock could deny that they felt a certain something in the air that night. And nobody would ever know that he was, well, attracted to Sherlock. Nobody could read his thoughts, right?

Simultaneously as these thoughts were occurring, a similar conversation was taking place about ten feet away. Mycroft had “borrowed” the Detective Inspector’s phone, and was using it to once again reprimand Sherlock on stealing his mate’s possessions. This discussion, had been a long standing Holmes feud, and the arguments usually went something like this:

“Sherlock, give it back.”

After this statement, Sherlock would huff and reply, “Give what back? Brother mine, do be more specific. You know how I hate the use of pronouns, they’re so commonwealth.” And Mycroft would sigh and say, “Sherlock, we’ve been over this before, you know what I’m talking about.”

To which Sherlock would reply, “If we’ve been over this before, then another time won’t hurt. Enlighten me.” And Mycroft would give up at all attempts at being civil and would yell out, “SHERLOCK, SO HELP ME IF YOU DON’T RETURN GREGORY’S BADGE SOON I WILL COME OVER THERE AND PERSONALLY SMITE YOU.” At this point in the conversation, Sherlock would simply chuckle. “Fine, come and get it back. But good luck finding all thirty eight of them.” And then, Sherlock would be blessed with silence as Mycroft slammed the phone down in anger.

The conversation ran it’s course along those lines, the only difference being that instead of the elder Holmes ending it, the conversation was cut short when Sherlock flipped his phone shut. “Mated people.” He growled, and then whirled around to return to the interesting man waiting in his sitting room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! That's two for one month, I say a job well done! :D Life has been hectic as always, with myself just finishing final exams and my co-author with her birthday coming up. (Feburary 4th, I better see a bunch of comments wishing her a happy 15th!) I hope everyones' weeks are going well, and I hope a little Johnlock put a smile on your face. As always, thanks for taking the time to read, give kudos, and comment. I'll hopefully see you all soon! 
> 
> ~You've just seen a Glimpse inside My_Mind_Palace


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